


Make the Yuletide Gay

by rosie_berber



Series: Spending the Holidays with Cas and Dean [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas Smut, Dean in Panties, Domestic Fluff, Elf Cas, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Get the Picture Guys? Super Fluffy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reindeer Sam, Rimming, Santa Dean, Smut, Thigh sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Castiel, but also smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:32:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_berber/pseuds/rosie_berber
Summary: Title is unapologetically juvenile because man oh man, when I hear Jensen Ackles plead with me in song to make the yuletide gay, I’m like, “challenge accepted.” Actual summary: Who thinks that Team Free Will deserve a very merry Christmas? Your author does, most certainly. So come along as some of my favourite hunters spend the holiday together. Complete with scenes of Dean and Cas bickering as they shop together, Dean dressed as Santa, Castiel dressed up as an elf. The big Christmas dinner Dean always wanted. Chick flicks. Feelings. Lots of em. And smut, oh boy, lots of smut. Did I mention smut? Cause there be smut. Also, lots of dick jokes. If you are the sort of person whose sense of humour tends towards the crude and the lewd, but also, you sort of love to bathe in fluffy feelings, why aren’t we already best friends? Because yeah, that’s me. Come hang out in my trashcan, it’s pretty great.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few words: Thanks to [Hatsonhamburgers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsonhamburgers), not only for telling me to write for the Destiel Advent Challenge, but for also being an amazing beta and for her awesome art for chapter 2! You are too precious for this world darling. And of course, thanks to [Pinkmink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink), my life partner in Destiel, for telling me to go for it when this crazy idea popped into my head, for her always awesome beta work, and for writing the most amazing complementary scene to this fic one could possibly want. 
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos warm my heart. Or, come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://rosie-berber.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> (And when you finish you really should do yourself a favour and go read [Pinkmink's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink) [Oh Holy Night...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8811409) which is related to this fic and is the very, very best treat.)

 

* * *

 

 

**_Christmas Eve - 2016_ **

 

****

     “Dean, there is no way that this is going to fit,” Cas huffs, a hint of strain to his voice as he pushes forward once more. But - as if the Fates were personally plotting against the angel - with one final thrust, the package finally makes its way in.

 

     “Oh ye of little faith,” Dean retorts, managing to be cocky while almost entirely out of breath, a proud smile stretching across his face as he slides the toboggan beneath their oversized shopping cart. Soon he’s upright once more, peering at Cas through the narrow valley between mountains of various decorations and assorted baked goods they had accumulated from the aisles of some generic big box store in Sioux Falls. The gap is just wide enough for Dean to catch Cas rolling his eyes at Dean’s overzealous Christmas spirit.

 

     The gesture is enough to earn him a playful shove from the cart as Dean rolls on.

 

     If he’s being honest, it is sort of sweet to see Dean this way. But the holiday does nothing for Cas. In fact, quite the opposite. It’s a litany of human customs whose import he cannot discern. So he walks alongside Dean, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trenchcoat, trying his best to pretend to be interested in the goods being peddled on shelves adorned with various red and green trinkets. Nearly successful until that terrible song starts. Its repugnance too immense to tune out.

 

_ “I wish I knew how to break this spell...” _

 

_      It’s simple enough,  _ Cas surmises.  _ Leave _ . The weather couldn’t possible be worse than that terrible excuse of a date. How some guy spiking his poor date’s drink could ever be considered “festive” or “merry” is beyond the angel’s comprehension. He’s halfway through constructing a very passionate lecture to give the crooners regarding the importance of consent when Dean interrupts him, picking up on the very hostile vibes Castiel is sending towards the store’s speakers.

 

     “You know - you’d think that an  _ Angel of the Lord _ would have a better attitude about Christmas. Far as holidays go, this one’s kind of the big one for you guys.”

 

     “You would think that, and you would be wrong,” Cas responds, his new salty attitude fully intact, fortified by an hour spent under florescent lights. An hour surrounded by oversized meat and cheese platters (of which Dean had placed two within their shopping receptacle, immediately flustered after making some comment about how good the sausage was) and containers of ketchup too large for any human family to consume. The angel elaborates on his position just as they pass a variety of inflatable yard decorations. “There are so many things that Book got wrong about it. For starters, Gabriel? He was long gone by then - already on his Norse retreat. And those three men? Many things one could call them - I for one would not choose  _ wise _ . And another thing - the census - no one got it right. The smell, the sounds. Did I mention  _ the smells? _ Too quick to get to the whole birth thing. To say nothing of the seasonal discrepancies, which of course have been pointed out by numerous scholars…”

 

     Dean looks at Cas blankly as he eats another free cookie sample, throwing some more candy canes into the heap. Cas sighs, annoyed, realizing his diatribe has fallen on deaf ears.

 

     “The whole birth thing? Really Cas?”

 

     “Babies are born all the time, Dean.”

 

     “But your dad isn’t so … directly involved with everyone else.” A moment of silence. “Is he?”

 

     Cas extends the pause.

 

     Like a reindeer in headlights, Dean is frozen in fear. “Oh God, he isn’t …  _ always watching _ … is he?”

 

     Cas quirks his head to the side, half-amused and half-confused by Dean’s sudden terror. “No Dean. He isn’t interested in the minutiae. More of a ‘big picture guy.’ You should know that by now.”

 

     Dean doesn’t respond, but there is a visible gulp of relief.

 

     “You are confusing Him with this Santa Claus creation your kind invented. Which is another thing about this holiday - the mixture of the pagan and the Christian and the commercial - none of it is … canon-compliant.”

 

     Dean lets out a chuckle towards Cas.

 

     “What is so amusing to you?”

 

     “Meg was wrong. More Scrooge than Clarence.”

 

     “I understand your reference and I do not appreciate it.”

 

     With a few last sets of lights thrown into the basket, Dean begins to make his way towards the check-out. He’s slowly strolling - taking it all in. He can’t admit it out loud - especially not to Ebeneezer at his side - but Dean’s feeling it. That strange synthesis of being content and excited. He sees the other shoppers, rushing to make their last minute purchases, stressed. But not him. He’s spending the holidays with everyone he loves most in this world. 

 

     Well, almost everyone. When he had texted Mary about their holiday plans, she responded with some sort of non-committal “I’ll try my best to make it.” Even after Dean had tried to sweeten the deal, assuring her it was almost definitely going to be one of those rare occasions where no one needed any sort of supernatural ammunition. 

 

     Although of course Dean still would be armed. 

 

     But even the possibility of Mary being a no-show isn’t enough to dampen Dean’s holiday cheer. He’s stuck in his internal reverie when he feels it - those lithe fingers making contact with his shoulder - stopping him in his tracks. 

 

     “I suppose you want to get one of these monstrosities,” Cas mumbles, his other hand stretched towards a particularly hideous angel tree-topper molded from cheap plastic at the edge of aisle 38.

 

     “Now - why would we need that when we’ve got the real thing?” Dean responds without thinking, far more flirtatiously than he had intended. His cheeks flush red.

 

     For the first time since they stepped foot into this building, Cas cracks a smile. 

 

     They are unloading their haul at the register when Castiel throws one last thing amidst their purchases. A pine tree car air freshener.

 

     “What’s that for?” Dean asks as he hands a credit card to the cashier.

  
     “A gift. For the Impala. Tis the season.” 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for  [Hatsonhamburgers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsonhamburgers) and her awesome art for this chapter. Because wow, did she ever capture the glory that is one of Cas's most wonderful _ass_ ets.
> 
>  
> 
> I'll see myself out guys.

* * *

 

     Santa’s boots have no sooner cleared the bathroom stall when there is a click of a cell phone camera. Not the victim of paparazzi, but rather, good old-fashioned brotherly blackmail. As he saves the picture, Sam steels his resolve to not laugh uncontrollably. Not yet.

 

     “It’s like looking into a crystal ball thirty years into the future. This is where a lifetime of bacon cheeseburgers and pie leads, Dean.”

 

     “Shut up, bitch,” Dean huffs from behind a full white beard even Cain would envy, patting his stuffed tummy into just the right shape. “I’m not the one who is a few more grey hairs away from needing some _Just for Men_.”

 

     “Jerk.” As it turns out, Sam possessed a yuletide version of bitchface.

 

     “Besides,” Dean goes on as he checks his red-velvet clad self out in the mirror. “You’re just jealous that Jody asked me to be the main event. She knew I’d pull this whole look off.”

 

     “The resemblance is uncanny,” Castiel remarks from a row of hand-dryers, the location where he had been sulking, objecting to the role Jody had assigned him to play that afternoon. Taking in the sight, Dean found the angel’s protest difficult to get behind.

 

     Maybe it was the way in which the candy cane striped tights were stretched to their limits over those thick, muscular thighs. How Dean’s eyes lingered on another part of Castiel that was deliciously thick, despite his brain’s explicit orders to keep on moving. Maybe it was the way in which the elf costume was clearly meant for someone smaller, shorter - how every line of Cas’s toned frame was apparent from beneath the cheap green polyester. Perhaps it was the way in which his messy hair seemed to be at war with that ridiculous hat, whose bells jingled every time Cas moved.

 

     Whatever it was, Castiel in that costume definitely didn’t have Dean suddenly wondering if elf!kink was a thing. Nor did it make him wish that there were more opportunities for Castiel to dress up in clothing that hugged his figure a little more … _snugly_ than suits allowed. Nope. Dean didn’t think about any of that at all.

 

 

 

     Instead, Dean did what he did best. He cleared his throat and delivered a line so drenched in sarcasm he hoped it would distract from the three seconds of serious eye-fucking he had just engaged in.

 

     “Do my ears deceive me, or was that a joke I just heard out of Santa’s little helper?”

 

     “It was,” Castiel confirms as his green felt shoes make their way towards Dean, jingling all  the way.

 

     A strained chuckle leaves Dean’s lungs as he’s suddenly counting his blessings that these velvet red pants are baggy. Baggy enough. He shifts awkwardly in place, trying desperately to masquerade his discomfort as silliness. “A Christmas miracle!”

 

     “Yes, it’s miraculous that you have finally picked up on my cutting sense of sarcasm,” Castiel responds as he pulls at the sides of the costume, trying in vain for it to fully cover his ass.

 

     Treacherous eyes follow Castiel’s doomed attempt to look anything less than vulgar. And just like that, Dean is at a loss for a witty rejoinder, committing the whole of his mental force to turn his gaze from the wonderful curves peeking out from beneath that glorious uniform. Back towards his brother, who has clearly been watching Santa’s blatant objectification of one of his underlings.

 

     Sam says nothing. Not that he has to. The smile he sports ear to ear speaks multitudes. So silent and smug as he puts on his own costume - antlers and a red nose.

 

     Once more Castiel laments his fate. “Please tell me again why Dean and I are forced to don these ridiculous attires while a headband suffices for you.”

 

     Sam lands a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Sometimes, the whole Moose thing pays off.”

 

\-----

 

     The card-carrying members of Team Free Will tumble out of the bathroom into the station decked with boughs of holly and so much more. Amidst the sea of red and green are a few familiar faces: Claire and Alex are tucked away in a corner, both clad in black and denim, visibly mortified by the whole ordeal.

 

     Because the Sioux Falls Police Department’s Christmas Extravaganza was many things, but it was neither hip nor cool. The two teens’ live tweets had expressed as much. Each and every comment they made about the event was accompanied by _#lame_. They weren’t exactly wrong: the space was filled to the brim with police officers clad in ugly Christmas sweaters each attending to their various activities. Some were handing pipes of icing to guests to decorate gingerbread houses. Others were burdened  with the cruel task of wrapping citizens’ gifts. A few lucky detectives were selling raffle tickets for charity.

 

     The whole thing is pretty much the epitome of saccharine. But if there was a time of year to overdose on the sweet, it’s Christmas right?

 

     So when she’s sure no one’s looking, Claire shoots a small smile Cas’s way. The angel can count on a single hand the number of times he’s seen that rare curl of lips, the sullen teen replaced for an instant with the strong young woman who has managed to make room in her heart for him. It makes Castiel momentarily forget about his impending humiliation - two hours as Dean’s personal assistant.

 

     Momentarily.

 

     Because it’s then that he, along with Sam and Dean, is assaulted by Jody, who somehow manages to fit the three rather beefy men into her arms at once.

 

     “Have I told you lately that you guys are my heroes?” Jody declares as she smacks a kiss on each of the men’s cheeks. The sheriff takes a step back, as if to evaluate. Two jovial smiles on the brothers Winchester - an adorable grimace on the angel.

 

     Taking in Cas’s visible reluctance to participate in the afternoon’s activities, Jody recollects herself. “I mean Cas - I’ve heard so much about you from Sam and Dean and Claire - but in the flesh - and then you agree to do this thing…” Unapologetically fangirling, Jody leans forward, her breath close enough to warm Castiel’s ear as she whispers, “you really are an angel.”

 

     “THEY’RE HERE?” The words are barely coherent, shrieked from a frantic blonde blur that comes pummeling out from behind an overgrown evergreen.

 

     “Donna!” Sam shouts as the woman lands with a thud in the arms of the tallest man.

 

     “Is she always this…” Castiel asks, mildly terrified.

 

     “Yup,” Dean responds, dipping his head slightly towards the frightened elf.

 

     “Better looking every time I see ya, I swear! And aren’t I just the luckiest lass in all of South Dakota to be paired up with ya to run the Pin the Nose on Rudolph stall?”

 

     Sam nervously grins. The grin grows wider when he really takes a look at what Donna’s wearing: the sweater has got Rudolph and Hermey and Sam the Snowman and so many Island of Misfit toys stretched over her curves. It’s almost too cute to handle.

 

     “I’m the lucky one. Get to work with you instead of one of these oafs,” Sam replies in a tone that could be mistaken for flirtatious as he gestures towards Santa and his elf.

 

     Castiel’s frown grows deeper.

 

     “It’s just because you couldn’t fit into any of the costumes! They only come in human sizes. Unless maybe there was an Abominable Snowman one kicking around here somewhere?” Dean barbs.

 

     Donna sighs, either ignoring or smitten with the bickering. “Is it just me, or did the holidays just get a whole lot more handsome?” Donna asks Jody, her head still on Sam’s shoulder.

 

     “These boys are more than just their good looks. I mean - Dean, you are an honest to God lifesaver. After Carl got sick I was worried for a minute I was going to have to be Kris Kringle. So - thank you, thank, you, thank you again.”

 

     Dean somehow manages to still smirk. “Just keep the cookies and milk coming and we’re aces.”

 

     “You’ve got it. Cas, could you escort Santa to his throne?” Ostensibly Jody asks it as a question. But the way she grabs their hands and slots them together? It’s more like an order. Castiel doesn’t even consider disobedience.

 

\-----

 

     The afternoon passes largely without incident. It’s filled with a lot of gingerbread and even more crappy Christmas music played through cheap speakers. One blindfolded soccer mom pins a Rudolph nose on a part of Sam rather than the paper drawing of Rudolph on the wall. _Accidentally,_ she claims.

 

     Claire and Alex spend most of the afternoon playing games of their own design. They summon forth their most obnoxious selves when contributing to a hipster elf on the shelf contest - finding the very best places to have the creature pose and gripe about things being the worst. Not that they really could surpass the current leader, who had her elf lamenting the horrors of being stuck at a Christmas party where the candy canes aren’t gluten free. And of course, they compete in some Olympic-caliber eye-rolling every time Dean’s hearty chuckle booms through the station.

 

     When they are sure no one is looking, including each other, they snap a few candid shots of the day, wholly devoid of irony. Those ones don’t make it onto Instagram.

 

     Cas? Cas mostly just awkwardly paces around, not sure of what to do with himself.

 

     And Dean? Dean eats. Eats cookies shaped like snowmen and candy canes and gifts. Because … Santa. But he also earnestly listens to the wishes of every child that sits upon his lap. It’s mostly for toys and video games and the usual fare. But there’s also little moments that make Dean think of the sort of thing he would have asked Santa for when he was little. A young girl clad in a meticulously mended Christmas dress asks him for a job for her dad. A boy with tired eyes - eyes that remind Dean of his own at his age - asks for his mom to be happy.

 

     Those moments have Dean nearly ready to run to the nearest crossroads to make some deals.

 

     It’s in one of those moments that Castiel catches the twinkle in Santa’s eye that you just can’t fake. The brightness of an honestly good soul shining out. As if on cue, the song comes on. It’s not one of the religious standards Cas prefers to the secular carols. It’s an unrepentant, infectious pop song.

 

     Suddenly, the elf costume doesn’t matter.

     The kids in line crying don’t make a sound.

     The hustle and bustle of it all - the overwhelming stimuli, they all fade.

     There’s just Dean, and Cas, and Mariah.

  
     And a heart, amongst other things, growing three sizes in an instant.


	3. Chapter 3

     “So, dinner is for the whole town too?” Dean jokes as he pops the cap off a cold one. He still has on the Santa suit, sans the boots and beard, entirely to spite the too-cool teenagers with whom he would be breaking bread this evening. 

 

     Jody doesn’t stop mashing potatoes at Dean’s snark. But that doesn’t mean she lets it slide, either. “I’m going to let that terrible joke pass. Because you know, Christmas.”

 

     After a long swig of some nutmeg-spiced microbrew (which was not nearly as terrible as he thought it would be), Dean responds. “You know I’m hilarious.”

 

     The bowl of starchy goodness has been passed off to Claire, on table-setting duty with Alex this evening. Jody, meanwhile, slips a spoon into the green-bean casserole as Dean hovers nearby. He’s as happy as she’s ever seen him. Knowing she’s had a hand in that fills her with a deep sense of contentment - something she hasn’t known for years. She lands a hand on the slightly tipsy Santa’s shoulder, leaning her weight into his. “I know you think you’re hilarious. And I am not going to burst your bubble. Not now. Not today. Because I still owe you. Two hours of taking photos with pretty much every kid in town? Cas might be an angel, but you’re a saint.”

 

     “A home-cooked meal is the best kind of repayment.” 

 

     Dean means every word and Jody knows it. The quick squeeze she gives Dean’s forearm says as much.

 

     But the sincerity of the moment isn’t enough to keep Jody from her next joke.

 

     “So you’re telling me I can skip this?” Jody asks as she whips out a bottle of brandy from the cupboard for the eggnog. 

 

     Dean crosses two hands on his chest. “You truly know the way to my heart.”

 

\-----

 

     Soon they are all gathered around the dinner table. Jody asks Cas if he wants to say grace. Dean reads the panic in the angel’s eyes - like he is scanning his mind for the most polite way to rebuff the offer.

 

     “Actually, Sheriff? Mind if I gave a little toast?”

 

     “Take it away Winchester.”

 

     Dean nods towards Cas, whose face is saying  _ thank you _ without muttering a single word, then clears his throat. “I don’t know if it’s the years catching up to me, making me sentimental…”

 

     “No kidding,” Claire faux-whispers to Alex, loud enough for all to hear.

 

     “You - you shut your mouth, whipper snapper.”

 

     “Are you kidding me?” Alex says, exasperated by Dean’s old-timey word choice.

 

     “I am not. Respect your elders.” Dean pauses, taking a long sip of his beer, during which he once again collects his thoughts. “Like I was saying. Sammy and I - we’re not young men anymore. Should have a whole batch of happy holiday memories under our belt. But in this line of work - monsters don’t often take the holidays off.”

 

     Everyone in the room chuckles softly at that admission, knowing its truth all too well. Everyone but Cas, whose gaze - intent, unwavering, focused - is still entirely directed toward Dean and his words.

 

     “A wise man - a man I considered a mentor, a man who I loved like a father - he once told me something about family not ending in blood.” When Dean’s eyes land on Jody, he could swear those are tears welling in her eyes. 

 

     “As I sit here with all of you, I’m once again reminded that I will never be - could never hope to be - as smart as Bobby Singer. Because - while I never doubted the man - I've come to know how right he was more and more each day. I would put my life on the line for any of you - sure. But also - each and every one of you have helped me - somehow in this crazy world we share - carve out a life worth living.”

 

     Dean’s eyes landed on Sam, silently clutching the plastic cup of red wine filled to the brim by Donna before the dinner had commenced (Jody had a strict  _ I have seen the messes you all are capable of - you aren’t going near my good china  _ rule that none of the hunters had contested). He found his sentiments reflected on his younger brother’s face. The pride that they had gotten here - somehow- past the years of fighting and lying and bad deals. To this mutual understanding. Together, they had balanced the scales of their lives - they’d done more good than harm. And this little family? This was their reward.

 

     Dean saw all of that and mentioned none of it. But Sam knew.

 

     “True, you’re all bitchy and reckless and wayward as fuck. Except you Donna. You … you are too good to be around the likes of us.” 

 

     “Awww shucks,” the blonde sheriff scoffed, gently shoving at Dean’s outstretched arm. Jody and Sam, from across the table, enthusiastically nodded their agreement with Dean’s appraisal. 

 

     “But damn if I don’t love you all.” Dean’s and Cas’s eyes meet, like they had thousands of times before, that word radiating between them. So often, Dean would turn away when he felt it. But not this time. This time, he makes sure Cas knows exactly what he’s feeling. His eyes don’t scan the table - they unwaveringly rest on the angel.

 

     “You are my family. Don’t ever change.”

 

     Maybe it’s an illusion, but Dean could swear that the blue in Cas’s eyes gets lighter in that moment. 

 

     “So let’s raise a glass - to found family.”

 

     And just like that, you could hear a pin drop. A room full of people always quick with the witty comebacks - and not a sarcastic word uttered. Everyone clinks their plastic cups, toasting to found family and all that meant.

 

\-----

 

     Castiel waits until Dean is compiling his second plate to excuse himself to the kitchen, offering to top up people’s drinks while he’s there. Which he does. Along with sending a text message, four words in length, to a person who needed to hear it.

 

_      You should be here. _

\-----

  
     It’s during dessert that Jody and Donna exchange _that look_. The one Sam has on his face every time he is in the room with these two. The one even their enemies have had throughout the years. Because, if they weren’t sure before, it is crystal clear during dessert how in love with Dean Castiel is. Because it takes nothing short of devotion to love someone whose cheeks are that stuffed full with apple pie. 


	4. Chapter 4

     After everyone has stuffed themselves silly, Claire and Alex abandon the “old people” for a party elsewhere. Jody insists they all relocate to the living room for the evening’s entertainment. Sam has the good sense to immediately rush to call dibs on the armchair, leaving only the couch for Jody and Donna and Dean and Cas. A pleasantly buzzed Dean plops down onto the couch, having cast aside the Santa jacket but still wearing the (surprisingly comfortable) red velvet pants. Castiel, who had rid himself of that elf costume at the first possible moment for the sweet comfort of his suit, politely declines the red and white striped onesie Donna offers him.

 

     He would need to be _liquor store drunk_ for that.

 

     Once everyone has settled, Jody reveals what that entertainment will entail: more alcohol (having moved onto Scotch now, with several cups of eggnog now residing in each of the hunter’s swollen stomachs) and _Love Actually._

 

     Dean makes a half-hearted protest about it being more chick flick than Christmas movie.

 

     Ever one to seize an opportunity when it presents itself, Jody asks him if there is any holiday-themed Japanese erotica he could suggest instead.

 

     “I will never forgive you for telling her that,” Dean threatens Sam menacingly, throwing a snowflake adorned pillow at his brother in an attempt to silence him, his cheeks as red as Kris Kringle’s.

 

     “Oh that isn’t even close to the most embarrassing thing I could come up with. So Donna, get this-”

 

     His embarrassment prompts Castiel to reach for the bottle of Scotch, topping off Dean’s glass as if to tell Dean, without words, to ignore his brother. Which is pretty hard to do, because Sam’s laughter doesn’t stop until the opening credits have finished rolling. But the gesture - it helps.

 

     The close contact doesn’t hurt either. Because when Jody joins the rest of the crew on the couch, it forces Dean to press his body flush with Castiel’s. The way in which Dean’s body presses into his is a sensation that Castiel wants to memorize.

 

     Minute by minute, he sinks into it more. Into Dean’s body. Into his musk - like spruce and sweat. Into the sound of his heart - the way it speeds up ever so slightly whenever there is a scene with some extra skin. Into his temperature - into his warmth. Into the softness of that black t-shirt - the shirt he always knew _looked_ like perfection but feels more wonderful than he could put into words. Into the smell of his breath: the Scotch - its robust spiciness over the sweet and salty remnants of dinner.

 

     All of it, inches away from Castiel. All of it puts heaven to shame.

 

     So much so that Castiel doesn’t really mind that he isn’t enjoying the movie very much. Sure, most of the people in the movie are very attractive, but almost all of them are relatively insufferable. He does wish better things for Sarah; her willingness to sacrifice her love life for her brother is touching.

 

     But all these love stories seem to fall short, for Castiel.

 

     For some reason.

 

     But there are scenes that make him feel things - human things - contrived though they may be. Like the scene where the emotionally distant man arrives on that front porch, confessing his love. That man says that on Christmas, you have to be honest.

 

     Castiel wonders if there is any truth to that.

 

     When that Mariah Carey song comes on again, he feels - through clammy palms and an erratic pulse - it must be valid.

 

     And when he catches Jody and Donna studying his reaction, he knows that his feelings aren’t exactly hidden.

 

     It’s only half past nine when the movie ends. Maybe it’s the Scotch talking, but Dean admits it wasn’t as bad as he thought it’d be. Immediately regretting his review, he clears his throat, insisting they watch _Die Hard_ next. Castiel readily agrees to the motion.

 

     Perhaps it’s the speed at which he answered.

     Perhaps it’s the way he seemed to look at Dean more than the screen during the movie.

     Perhaps it’s the fact that both Jody and Donna had recently dived into the Carver Edlund books and were shipping it. _Hard_.

 

     But Dean’s barely moved to spend the next two hours with John McClane when Jody and Donna fake exhaustion and decide to call it a night, pulling a clueless Sam along with them. Jody gives Dean the obligatory “are you sure about crashing on the couch” speech while throwing a pillow and some blankets his way. Castiel awkwardly interjects and reminds everyone he doesn’t need to sleep and that is why he will stay downstairs.

 

     “Goodnight,” Donna whispers into Dean’s ear as she kisses him on the cheek.

     “Good luck,” Jody whispers to Cas as she does the same.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here's the smut guys.

     Throwing the pillow and blanket into the armchair (as if to prevent Cas from sitting there instead of with him), Dean slips in the DVD before returning to the comfort of well worn suede. Castiel stands, reaching across Dean to fetch his empty glass before crossing the room to refill their Scotch. 

 

     The room is dark, but the streetlight pouring in and the lights on the tree give off just enough illumination for Dean to make out the fine lines carved into Cas’s face. Even as he’s seated several feet away - no excuse to be curled up close. He hands Dean a generous offering of booze.

 

     When the tumbler passes from Cas’s hand to Dean’s, the angel’s fingers make a light pass over the hunter’s knuckles. It’s the sort of touch that’s happened hundreds of times during their friendship. It feels just as electric this time as the first.

 

     Maybe it’s that touch that gets things started. But with each elapsed minute at Nakatomi Tower, the platonic pretense - fragile to begin with - wavers more and more.

 

     Because there’s nothing brotherly about the way Dean sneaks glances at Cas during his favourite scenes to see if he likes them too. There’s nothing professional about how slowly Cas strips out of his trenchcoat. And friends? Friends don’t migrate ever so slowly towards the sagging slope at the middle of the couch, just to be closer - close enough to hear the cadence of each breath inhaled and expended.

 

     So it’s not all that surprising that Hans Gruber has barely made his intentions clear when Cas can’t take it anymore. He puts the movie on pause. Dean turns to him, furrowing his brow and raising his hands in exasperation.

 

     An ample amount of Scotch having made its way into his bloodstream, Castiel is feeling bolder. Braver. And just buzzed enough to take the leap.  _ Now or never, _ Cas thinks. 

 

     “Was it right?” His eyes are turned toward the carpet below.

 

     Dean searches Cas’s profile for meaning. “Was what right, Cas?”

 

     “The movie.”

 

     “Are you asking if  _ Die Hard _ is accurate?”

 

     “No, not this movie. The other one.” Castiel finally lifts his head, meeting Dean’s line of sight. “The part about Christmas being the time to tell the truth.”

 

     Dean recalls the scene, nodding ever so slightly towards Cas. “I guess so.”

 

     The response is whispered towards Cas, as if too precious to say above a hush. Castiel finds himself needing to be closer. And so, ever so slowly, he moves towards Dean, inch by inch, bracing himself before he speaks once again. 

 

     “Then...let me say...” Cas extends his hand, trembling though it may be, with certitude. Until it lands on Dean’s face, the tips of his fingers brushing against the heights of Dean’s cheekbones. 

 

     “ _ With _ both hope and agenda...” he murmurs softly.  _ He’s not stopping you,  _ Cas thinks, taking it as a sign that it is safe to traverse forward. Tentatively he gets on his knees, swinging a leg over Dean’s lap, straddling him.  _ Misunderstandings and evasions no longer possible.  _ The hardness and heat he feels through thin red velvet reassures him his explorations are not without their merits. 

 

     “To me, you are perfect.” The angel’s thumbs outline the sides of Dean’s face before delicately kissing him. For a moment’s moment, nearly a decade in the making. When the contact breaks, Castiel rests his forehead on Dean’s, listening to the staggered breath and erratic pulse of the man for which he would defy a thousand heavens. 

 

     “And my wasted heart will love you...” 

 

     Castiel doesn’t get to finish the recitation. For as soon as he speaks again, he is interrupted.

 

     By Dean, grabbing him tightly, crashing their lips together as one. 

 

\-----

 

     Castiel has had the pleasure of looking at Dean’s lips and tongue for over eight years.

 

     All of those memories, once beloved, pale in comparison to what it feels like to kiss and be kissed by Dean Winchester.

 

     The reckless abandon with which Dean handles Castiel’s body - the way his hands are wandering to touch every piece of skin that had been off limits - the way his fingers dig into flesh - it makes Castiel think he has not been alone in his pining.

 

     So the angel has to try hard not to fully give into the frenzy, pulling himself away from Dean, taking in the sight of swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He has to break to convince himself this is not just some wonderfully vivid dream in which he is partaking.

 

     He darts his tongue down to the cleft in Dean’s chin, licking his way back up to his lips. 

     “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he confesses.

     Dean too paints a stripe up the cleft in Castiel’s.

 

     “Me too,” he concedes in a voice between a moan and a chuckle.

  
  


     It is then that Castiel allows himself to begin to rock slightly, feeling the heat build between Dean’s body and his own. Dean offers his neck up to Castiel, who readily takes it into his mouth, kissing his way down to Dean’s clavicle. He is stopped there by the collar of Dean’s t-shirt.  _ Only Dean could turn a simple black t-shirt into a kink of its own.  _ He looks so good in it that Castiel is almost hesitant to remove it.

 

     Almost.

 

     But off it goes, thrown to the side of the couch. New expanses of freckled skin now at Castiel’s disposal. He takes a moment to run his fingers across each scar on Dean’s chest. They are superficial - no longer causing him any pain. But they are a reminder to Castiel how much this man has endured. When his fingers pass over Dean’s nipples, the hunter throws back his head, able to mutter only one word Cas’s way.

 

_      More _ .

 

     And so Castiel dips his head down to Dean’s chest, his teeth lightly tugging at each of Dean’s now very perky nipples. Dean’s eyes are still glued to the ceiling but his hands have now travelled up to Cas’s hair, grabbing at it tightly, holding his face in place. Suddenly it dawns on Cas that  _ this is happening.  _ He’s not sure what he was expecting, but he now realizes he expected at least a few reservations on Dean’s part. But the only things that are coming out of Dean’s mouth are words of praise and pleads to keep going.

 

     And so Cas keeps going. His mouth migrates to Dean’s shoulder, his teeth latching onto a particularly sensitive patch of skin, sucking softly through Dean’s affirmations. When he finally lets go, he realizes he’s once again left his mark.

 

     And so he says it.

 

     “You’ve got my mark there again,” he huffs out in a single breath before beginning a trail of kisses down Dean’s tummy.

 

     “I wish you had never gotten rid of it in the first place,” Dean moans quietly, his fingers slipping into the waistband of his pants. They were borrowed, after all. Would be a shame to mess them up.

 

     “Let me,” Cas insists, lowering the pants slightly, making space for himself between Dean’s knees in the process. Only to reveal that the gifts keep on coming. For underneath his Santa suit Dean has been rocking some red lace panties. Much to Castiel’s delight.

 

     Castiel runs his hand over the bulge, desperately trying to escape, his lips tenderly mouthing through the fabric. When Cas’s lips pass over the lace stretched over the head of his cock, Dean is now officially, blissfully lost. He bucks his hips up towards Castiel’s mouth, aching for any form of friction. By the third time he does it, Cas just can’t resist. 

 

     “You’re being more naughty than nice,” he comments towards Dean as he slips two fingers down the side of the panties. 

 

     And with that, Dean is gone.

 

     Ever the kind and gentle soul, Castiel delays gratification no longer, wrapping his lips around the head of Dean’s cock, beginning to slowly suck Dean off. He dips his hands underneath Dean’s ass, slowly and gently gripping it over and over again, lifting his dick deeper and deeper into his mouth. Somehow, between taking the Lord’s name in vain and using every synonym for great within his vernacular, Dean manages to ask Cas what’s on his mind.

 

     “What - what do...” Dean’s voice catches as the back of Cas’s throat graces the head of his cock. And then the words drip from Dean’s mouth, syllable by syllable, less spoken than groaned. “What...do...you...want...for...Christmas...Cas?”

 

     With a pop of his lips off of Dean’s thick, hard cock, Cas mumbles his response. A low and primal  _ you. _

 

\-----

 

     It’s not long after that that Dean’s on all fours, hands gripping the edge of the couch, Santa pants dropped down to his knees. Cas insisted they stay on, for some reason Dean couldn’t currently be bothered to know. Because right now all that matters to him is that Cas keep on doing what he’s doing, keep on forcing him to moan every feeling and thought he has into the fabric of the couch, not wanting to wake anyone up but finding it impossible to stay silent when Cas’s mouth feels so fucking good. 

 

     Because suddenly it is so very clear to Dean that Castiel’s mouth is a heavenly instrument because what it is doing to him cannot be anything short of sacred. Because yeah, Dean may have played catcher a few times before - but - never, ever has anything felt as good as Cas’s mouth feels right now.

 

     And the good’s not just physical. It’s that - of course - but Dean is letting Cas have him in a way that should make him feel vulnerable. A way that is profoundly intimate. Vulnerable and intimate were things Dean Winchester did not do.

 

     Except with Cas now. Except with Cas always.

 

     Because as Cas’s mouth works all sorts of wonders - the sensation - it’s not  _ wholly  _ new. More like a magnified, dynamic, explosive, concentrated version of the way Cas always made him felt.

 

     Worshiped. 

     Adored.

      _Loved._

 

     Never has anything felt so safe, so good, so utterly, fundamentally, atomically  _ necessary. _

 

     Until Cas inserts a well-lubricated finger, finding  _ that spot _ on his very first go. And once he finds it, he is merciless at working Dean open. It turns out that to Castiel, there’s no such thing as too much of a good thing.

 

     It’s when Castiel is three fingers deep that Dean cannot wait any longer.

 

     He asks, pleads, begs Castiel to fuck him.

  
  


     Castiel was never one to refuse orders with which he agreed. And so, after shedding the various unnecessary layers of clothing he was wearing, he retrieves an economy sized pack of condoms from his own bag, having purchased it at the big box store without Dean knowing. Seeing that many all together makes Dean a hundred and twenty eight different kinds of happy. But not happier than when he sees Castiel open the wrapper with his teeth and hurriedly, eagerly slip the first on. 

 

     Slowly, steadily, he buries himself into Dean.  Until there’s no more of him to fit, until Dean is filled to brim.

 

     After ensuring Dean’s comfort, after moving along at a pace concerned with Dean’s care, after slowly sinking into the hunter over and over again, his hand wrapped around Dean’s leaking cock, Cas waits for further instructions.

 

     They don’t take long. Because soon enough Dean is demanding that Cas fucks him harder, and then... then Castiel shows Dean just what an angel of the Lord can do.

 

     He relentlessly pounds into Dean, again and again, holding onto his shoulders and gliding in while Dean thrusts himself into the couch.  _ Sorry Jody _ . He transforms Dean into a shaking, blithering mess of a man who seems only capable of words like  _ yes _ and  _ fuck  _ and  _ Cas _ over and over.

 

     In short, Cas goes to fucking town on Dean.

 

     It is not perfectly scripted or enacted. Their paces sometimes don’t match - he sometimes loses his rhythm. He tries to hold on until Dean comes, but how  _ perfect  _ Dean feels makes that a nearly impossible feat.

 

     Because Dean, in one fluid movement, manhandles Cas to sit and sinks down on him. And the fierceness he usually reserves for his most formidable foes? It is with that resolve that Dean rides Castiel. With such passion and intensity that Cas can hold off no more. 

 

     He can hardly speak the words to warn Dean of the way his body was tightening, walking that careful edge between continued pleasure and oblivion. Maybe Dean just knew from the murmured gasps of his own name. Maybe that’s what it meant for their bond to be profound - their bodies and souls that in tune. Because it’s in that moment that Dean shifts, popping off and sitting back in the angel’s lap, taking him in his hand bare. Dean pulls Cas in close, demanding the angel’s climax, pressing their lips feverishly together as their stomachs are painted by stream after stream. 

 

     In the afterglow he drops his head to Dean’s shoulder, struggling to catch his breath while still adamant about Dean getting off. His hand grips Dean tight and works tirelessly to push him past the brink.

 

     Dean’s kissing softly into the nape of Cas’s neck he quietly asks for it.

 

_      To fuck his thighs. _

 

     No sooner is the question asked then Cas is on his back, ankles crossed and resting on Dean’s left shoulder. 

 

     As it turns out, Castiel’s thighs were one of Dean’s favourite things. He counts the reasons why as he slides his dick between those perfectly toned legs over and over until he spills all over Cas’s stomach. 

 

\-----

 

     They are about to begin round two (making up for lost time) when they hear her. 

 

     Donna. 

 

     Dressed only in - wait - was that Sam’s shirt? They meet her, wide-eyed, a container of doughnuts in hand. Slowly tip-toeing past them like a kid eager to see Santa come down the chimney. 

 

     The look of shock on her face makes them think she saw a whole different kind of coming.

 

     “What? I left you some!” she shouts as she races back up the stairs.

 

     “Sheriff Hanscum,” Cas called after her, causing her to stumble and Dean to cringe, “Sam might enjoy something more nutritious; he does like to eat healthy.”

  
     Donna snorts and takes the rest of the stairs two at a time, mumbling something about knowing _exactly_ what Sam likes to eat.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to love Love Actually but now I mostly hate it but also, yes to tropes and yes to the feelings and fluff and if it was Cas and Dean I'd die.


	6. Epilogue

**Christmas Morning**

 

     Sunlight’s slowly creeping through the window panes when the doorbell rings. It is an awful, despicable sound. Because it threatens to pull Cas away from the perfection of this moment - from the serenity of living in the soft snores passing through Dean’s nostrils. So it takes all of his fortitude and a significant desire to not be caught in a compromising situation for Castiel to convince himself to wake Dean. But not before taking one last look of the hunter at this angle, all eyelashes and cheekbones and lips. Castiel has to dig deep for the strength to grip Dean’s shoulder and shake him.

 

     Dean’s eyelids open slowly, his evergreen eyes squinting when taking in the light.

 

     “It’s morning, Dean,” Castiel says tentatively, seated at Dean’s side.

 

     Dean smiles a sleepy smile, slowly scanning the disheveled living room before he speaks. Smelling the … romance … amongst stale alcohol and semen.

 

     “Christmas morning. Merry Christmas, Cas.”

 

     Cas moves to go towards the door, stopped in his tracks by the outstretched hand of a man with finely honed instinct. A man who grasps his wrists and pulls him down for a quick, chaste kiss. As if to say that the connoisseur of one night stands was happily retiring.

 

     So Castiel couldn’t have been more pleased when he finally got to the door. Until he sees her, a box full of fresh pastries in hand. _Mary_.  She’s got dark circles under her eyes and he can tell she’s driven all night to be there.

 

     The Winchesters were no amateurs to sacrifice. But this one - it was right up their amongst their greatest hits.

 

     Castiel wants to tell her as much, but he settles for something else - a form of nonverbal communication of which he has grown quite fond. He pulls her in and hugs her the hug says everything he can’t really get out. That it was really important for her to come and that he’s really glad she did. That all of it is worth it.

 

     And when Mary sees the unfettered glee on her oldest child’s face when he first sees her? She knows she is exactly where she belongs.

 

     They welcome the morning the best way a house full of hunters knows how. Cas brews a pot full of strong coffee while everyone else sleepwalks their way into the kitchen, each taking a seat around the table, each smelling like sex, all too polite to comment on it. When Cas finally pours himself a cup in a ceramic mug plastered with bees (it was almost too perfect, like the scene was written that way), the only seat left open is next to Dean. He hesitates slightly before sitting down, not sure how to proceed. Knowing things are different but fearing Dean’s old habits will once again emerge - that the hunter will pretend otherwise.

 

     Castiel rests his hands slowly on the wooden table, its paint chipped. Trying his best to act normal. Realizing he has no idea - never has - how to act normal. Wondering if he’s doing something strange with his face or body. Not knowing how to sit naturally. Terrified to be amidst an audience. His heart starts pounding and his hands start to clam up and he’s really really nervous.

 

     Until another hand lands itself on top of his, fingers casually interlaced with his own.

 

     “What say we move this little gathering around the tree? Open up some gifts?” Dean says, smiling a smile that no one, not even Sam, has ever seen before.

 

     A smile of perfect peace.

  
     Cas agrees to the relocation, but he’s already got everything he could want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True story: I really do have a kink entirely centered around that black t-shirt. 
> 
> Well, I adored writing this and hope you liked reading it! You really should go read about what was happening in Jody's room as Cas and Dean were getting their freak on. Because, yeah, [Pinkmink's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink) [Oh Holy Night...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8811409) is the very, very best treat.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Oh Holy Night...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811409) by [Pinkmink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink/pseuds/Pinkmink)




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